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spheres   
05:50pm 11/07/2009
  One sphere falls.

A cube contains spheres, they are larger than one might expect. One might grab one,
might grab a pink,
might grab a light blue,
might hold a sphere in ones hand,
might let it fall.

A fellow traveller zooms by as a sphere is chosen, and all the calculations change, what had the intent of fun now has the intent of looking like intented fun. Something's missing, it's taken away, something critical, so critical, when the observer is added.

One sphere, taken in hand,
and set
and ready
and released.

This sphere falls.

This sphere, it falls and turns a little in the air as it goes -- *poom* solid ground, and of course the reason the sphere was released was for what it was to do after it hit, and the sphere performs as was excepted. There is no joy, the show is a show now.

And the traveller who was passing by did not care anyway, and the taker of the sphere did not care anyway, and this is all dumb.

But despite the disappointment of having had a moment stolen away (cf. stranger, traveller), there was still fun, still playing with spheres, spheres and ground and *poom*.

Thus they keep making spheres
and selling spheres
and putting them out in a box.		  
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end   
09:57pm 10/07/2009
  Sometimes a day can feel like the end of the world.

Lately it feels like every day is the last day of vacation, or the Sunday evening of a long weekend, it all just has an ending feeling to everything.

Not sure what that means.		  
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cheese in the fridge   
04:58pm 29/06/2009
  I have this cheese in my fridge, and I keep not having an excuse to eat it.

The cheese has been in the fridge for three weeks now.
I keep thinking it will go bad.
I look and think it will be moldy or dried or something.
Everytime I open the fridge and think to look, I think this.

But
The thing
The issue

is that there is a sticker on it.
That says "aged 2 years."		  
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The Japanese Game, a slight clarification   
02:48pm 27/06/2009
  There has been a whole heck of a lot of misunderstanding around The Japanese Game [The Japanese Game is (c)2009 SuzieBlog] so I want to answer a few pointed barbs.

-->
1. The Japanese Game means you just read the introductions to grammar books and the first part of the first chapter and then give up and learn nothing?

No. False. In fact playing the Japanese Game it is possible to learn Japanese, which is a pretty neat side-effect, if you play stack-the-blocks-and-take-lines-off-the-screen then at best you get a screen with no blocks on it, and more likely a screen so full of blocks that the game ends. In The Japanese Game, you can get mastery of a pretty useful language.

-->
2. The Japanese Game is just a way of learning Japanese.

No. False. It is a game. I think the only rule stated outright that the people who are playing would admit to is: A. Learn Japanese. Otherwise the rules are hard to explain to oyu non-playing-Americans.

The main difference between studying Japanese and playing this game we are playing is that if you are studying Japanese then you most likely have a reason and a goal in mind. Like maybe you want to learn Japanese. Or say you have to take it to finish a degree in Japanese history. But the Japanese Game does not put such narrow restrictions on the player. We are not as close-minded as a college of having to have a point. I refer again to the puzzle concept. Japanese seen as a giant puzzle that, if played an hour a day, takes about nine years to complete.

-->
3. This is stupid, you are stupid, the whole internet is dumb, why are you doing this to me, just shut up already.

I generally agree here, with the exception that The Japanese Game is more fun than spending hours watching TV.

-- -- --

I think this makes things a bit clearer.

I should note that there is a 3-day version of the Japense Game for those of you whom do not have nine years of spare free-time.

And finally it is our grand delight to say that the folks at SuzieBlog are working on a version of The Japanese Game for the Russian language.		  
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maps   
06:27pm 25/06/2009
  Samuel: No, no, that is not how you hold a map, it is orientated all wrong!

Susan: Dork, that is not even a word.

Samuel: What isn't?

Susan: orientated!

Samuel: Then what do I say?

Susan: You say Asiantated.		  
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a return to French club   
09:30pm 24/06/2009
  I was hoping to say "A wildly successful return to French club" but it was more that I put in an hour and got the heck out of there.

I have not been to French club in maybe two months, the regulars there could not even remember my name.

As is the truth for most things, it being summer the ranks have swelled. Instead of a dozen people, it was closer to 30, and that is a lot of people speaking French.

For most of the night I tried to hide a bit and not talk, but I did end up talking in French a bit and I was delighted at how embarassed I am at not being able to speak all that much of it. I did okay, certainly a lot better than two months ago, but I am at least a year away from being functional in French.

Much of the evening felt like a chore, but it was good to get back.

I also felt more comfortable telling people that learning French was a completely random decision, and though everyone there has a great story of why they fell in love with the language, it was nice to be contrary and "it is something to do on a Wednesday night."		  
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Japanese   
08:52pm 23/06/2009
  I was trying to explain to someone what the difference is between playing at learning Japanese and actually learning Japanese, and I think I have an explanation.

What it is like.

It is like there are these two highways, one is called 90, and the other is called 94, and jsut outside of Chicago 90 and 94 merge into a beltway and circle all around Chicago and well into Indiana. SO people in Chicago 90 and 94 are the same exact road and there is no reason to say or do or think any different, but people living in Bose, Montana or Triplehorn, Iowa, or Jimmney, Kentucky, or Fullerfax, Ohio, they are all quite different ways to go.

That is what it is like.		  
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troll   
09:08pm 05/05/2009
  The correct term is trolling, but for those not farmiliar with IRC I'll use the word "annoying."

I have a new way to annoy people without letting them know you are annoying them. It is secret annoying and then you share with your friends.

I think you have to be over 35-years-old for this to work.

Let us say you are in an elevator and someone takes out a Blackberry, act like you are just a tad on the excited and interested side and exclaim, "Oh! Is that an iPhone?!"

They get all explainy about what they have which is not an iPhone, and at the same time they get defensive for not being cool enough to spend the extra $50 for the iPhone.

THis only is funny if it is not an iPhone, and it funnier if they are pointedly being jerks to avoid any sort of verbal or eye-bal contact with you.

The end		  
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Goethe and the Golden Boy   
09:18pm 03/05/2009
  I finally found out what the golden statue is across the street from the Goethe statue.

THe gold statue is in a rather conspicius spot, but it is facing away from all the big streets that run along it. Also there is no sidewalk that leads up to it. Plus there are some serius gates and shrubs to keep you well back.

I had been told it was Hans Christen Anderson, though that sounded unlikely. I have been in that area a lot, but never taken the time to figure out all the street crossigns involved to get to that traffic island.

But I was out for a night time stroll and no aim where to go other than "out."

I crosssed to that island, and walked all the way around, and it turns out it is Alexander Hamilton.

You'd think he would have a more accessible statue, but nope. I mean sure it looks like he is made of pure gold, which is a plus if oyu are going to have a statue made of you, but it is pretty boring, and hard to get to. The odd landscaping is all that saves its grace.

I then walked thrugh the woods, and hidden in there was another statue! It had lights on it, but it is not something you would notice unless you were right on it.

It is John Peter Altgeld with a lot of kids. He was perhaps the gretest Illinois governor. And a reformer type, he died so very long ago and now he is hidden in the woods, only there for those following a whim to go deeper into the woods.

I then walked home on a wooden path.

It is neat how in the middle of one of the higher density parts of the city, there are still a few copses to explore if you wander jsut a little.		  
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Identity   
04:40pm 15/04/2009
  I haz a new state ID.

I kind of like being in the odd minority with a state ID instead of a driver's license, it makes me feel like I can act like I am better than other people the way vegeterians are all acting like they are better than other people.

The nifty part of a State ID is that there are hidden places to get them done, places you "drivers" will likely never see.

I went into a huge catacombs today under Daley Plaza. If oyu saw Blues Brothers then the last car chase ends in Daley Plaza before they take the elevator up and have Stephen Spielberg certify their tax stuff.

I went down a stairs and would around in various direcctions. I was surprised not only by the size and exteent of these underground walkways, but that they were clean and that they were lots of stores down there, like Dunking Dughnuts and a store that sells antiques, and food and more food.

Anyway, it was fun, and confusing, and at one point I had to ask a guide for help.

The people at the secret state ID-only DMV were pretty neat, a bunch of us there got into a discussion of Spongebob Squarepants. Thoguh odd talks liek that tend to follow me anywhere.

I was there at 8:30 a.m. and yet there were only two people ahead of me in line.

Now I have a nifty ID, a lot better than my previous ID where I was a lot heavier and I would have to sometims have to explain about my weight loss to bouncers or bookstore cashiers.

And I got to have an adventure.		  
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Question I get   
07:57pm 24/02/2009
  A question that is being asked of me a bit recently is, "Just what do you mean you are accidently learning the French language?"

Here I shall set down the events to this rather unfortunate accident, more so that I need not explain it again, just refer to this webbing blogging and leave it as that, and, too, to save myself a lot of storytelling, though come to think of it, by the time I type this and edit it, it will most likely be aggragetly longer than telling the story five times, but the ball is put into motion, and whom am I to stop something of momentum?

Five weeks ago by the Jovian calendar I was sitting at home on a Wednesday morning realising that I would be returning from home that evening with only the prospect of internet chat. It was a gloomy enough realisation, that I decided to look on the internet for activities I could do. Oooh, there was French club.

Other options were "learn real estate" "Grateful Dead listening party" (an entire concert was going to be listened to that night) and a few religious things.

Well, I know a little German, and I know from German Club that there are always a lot of beginners at such events, I can go to French club, pass myself off as a beginner just starting the language, and hang out for a while and have a nice meal, and some bon vivant.

Well, it turns out French club is different from German club in one key way. French club has no beginners. French club is people who took French in high school and then college and then kept up with it, maybe travellng to France, maybe living a few years in France. People so into French that they do not even have an American accent, they have legit-sounding French speakingness.

I was the only beginner there, and I was not even a beginner, I was a pre-beginner, with no French beyond the stuff you say to a friend when ironically being sophisticated.

And these people insisted I speak only in French.

It was fairly grueling, and I think the sensible thing would be to have cut my losses and run, but I decided that anyone can be the guy who shows up at French club and runs away, I wanted to be a little different.

I stayed a full hour, and after a while they eased up on me a little, and let me ask my dumb questions in English, and I was pretty well daunted and stiffled, but I lived.

Now, here is where things get tricky, the smart thing to do is to give up, but, sadly, now I was the guy who showed up to French club one time, and was miserable and embarassed, and I should have been the guy who did not go back. But I wanted to be a little different.

The next week I went back.

And it was worse.

I was more miserable, and people were almost hostile.

Not quite hostile, more like, "dude, seriously?" (But in French.)

But I stuck it out an hour that 2nd week, and they tried to speak to me in French, and mostly I listened, by this time my French was just slightly above zero, one week of French.

So I left and was humiliated, I was the guy who went back to French club despite it having been a bad time and I had a worse time, but I reasoned anyone could do that, I wanted to be different.

The next week I had a commitment, but the week after that... I went back.

And here is the cool part. This week I was accepted. I think it was more resignation on their part. Okay, this guy is going to keep coming bacck, and so instead of him ruining things with English, lets tell him how to learn French.

The best part was the hazing. My French had become just good enough in those few weeks that I could sort of make sentences, or parts of sentences if I asked for words (in French), and so this week they did not let up on my having to speak in French, and it was pretty gret. I would occasionally have to bang my head on the table as I struggled to even know if I knew a work, and then make "uuuuuuuhhh" sounds as I looked in a different part of my brain for the word itself.

They gave me a lot of advice for courses I coud take, and some basic grammar structures, and what would be a good set of areas of the language to concentrate. (Since I am doing this my own way, most of this advice gets trashcanned, but some of it was super useful.)

I guess it is hard to explain how this was so great, the best way to explain it is that I am part of a secret club, and you, dear reader, are not.

So that is it.

I am not the guy who shows up for French club jsut to be somewhere
I am not the guy who stays an entire hour just to say he did
I am not the guy who goes back the next week despite feeling helplessly out of depth and stays the full hour again despite wanting to flee.

I am the guy who accidently finds that French is really not that difficult a language, and turns out to be pretty useful, and that even with a little French I can not only pretend to be smarter than other people, but have other people legit think I am smarter than they are strictly on the showing that I know a little French and am in a French club.

Silly humans.

The end		  
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an open letter to people who read poetry on their podcasts   
02:39pm 01/02/2009
  Dear enthused instructors who read poetry outloud for foreign language learning podcasts, or actors reading poems for an audiobook.,

Stop trying to be so earnst and dramatic and faux respectful in the readings!

k thax.

Srsly, find the voice in the poem, and stop treating every poem like it is supposed to sound like every other poem and handed down to us from Mt Olympus, they work much much better with a looser out-louding, try it sometime. This somehow goes double for audiobook poetry collections.

yr pal,

The Mur

p.s. you people who write your own poetry for open-mic night, this does not apply to you, keep being your own wonderful selves.		  
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More German   
03:59pm 23/01/2009
  I spoke German again yesterday!

I was waiting for the ATM at the bank and the woman ahead of me said something, I forget why, and I heard she had an accent, and she was indeed from Germany.

The conversation was not all that remarkable, I found out she was from Thurminger, a city whose name I know, but not its location. Anyway, she kept asking me about my German, mostly standard questions, like how did I know it so well, etc.? I don't think I have had one of these random conversations since October, but it was neat that she did not switch back into Englsih except for the goodbye, those always sound phony if you do it in the other language.

Oh, and the nice pat-myself-on-the-back part is that I had said I had "self-taught myself a littlee German" and later, as we said bye, she said it was a heck of a lot more than a "little" German. So that felt good.

And since Neilathotep will ask, yes, she was very cute.		  
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HOOTIE ! ! ! !   
09:31am 09/01/2009
  It is an all-Hootie Friday!!!!

I am listening to nothing but Hootie And The Blowfish today!! From wake up till I set my head on the pillow tonight. Nothing but the greatest party band of the 80s, 90s, and today!!!! PARTY WITH DARIUS RUCKER!!!! GOLF!!! SOUTH CAROLINA!!!!

There is the slight problem that I do not own any Hootie and the Blowfish and the radio does not play them anymore, so right now I am listening to Supertramp instead, but still... Hootie!!! ...all...day...LONG!!!!.		  
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Book totals for 2008   
07:40pm 02/01/2009
  My book numbers for 2008

30 books in English
17 books in German
22 books in Spanish

69 books in total.

I considered trying to push to get one last book in at the end of the year and make it a round 70, but I am enjoying the current lot of books I am reading, and rushing through any of them seemed most a stunt than a pleasure.

Of the English language books, here are my five favorites.

1. Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norell
Sure this is fantasy, and I *hate* fantasy; but this is such a great send up of stuffy Victorian literature and British history and society that it is hard to not love every facet of this book (complete with overdone footnotes). I don't think I have read a more mean-spirited book in a long time. A sharp, cutting sense of humor delightfully done in a way that would be totally missed by the casual non-overread reader.

2. Spin.
Sorry to have a sci-fi in this list. Good story that would almost work outside a sci-fi context is what raises this above standard sci-fi.

3. Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter. Mario Vargas Llosa.
This is an older book. Peruvian writer. Neat stuff.

4. Everything is Illuminated. Jonathan Safron Foer.
Sure, indie hipster book, but I liked it a lot.

5. Strange Beauty. George Johnson.
The story of discovery in particle physics told through a biography of Murray Gell-Mann. Surprisingly well-written for science.		  
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and the streets do empty   
07:50pm 01/01/2009
  I spent my New Year's eve in a sort of depression. Around 8 p.m. I realised that if I did not do something I would just die right then of lonliness. I texted my youngest brother. I had planned on staying in, he said I could come with with him, but the restaurant was sold out, but he found a place for me to go instead.

A country/western bar. A dive bar with hardcore locals. And ironic indie kids. I am not sure which camp I fall into anymore. I am all alone in a country and western bar on New Year's Eve.

In the bar. I had not eaten. Kitchen open late, the magazine guide my brother had read to me had said. Well, our grill is closed, but I'll deep fry something for you. Onion rings. Turns out that was perfect.

Lots of texting to others, some more miserable than me, others having more fun.

I ended up staying an hour, I left at 11:30 p.m. knowing I would miss the ball drop.

Crud! I forgot I had a point here. But I'll tell one more pointless digressive story.

I am walking towards the bus stop, and a young couple stop me, and the male of the species asks for a light. I carry a lighter for such occasions, and I don't say much, and he makes a little small talk, so I talk small, the female of the species says a drunken "happy new year" and I wake up just a tad from auto-pilot and wish her a happy new year, and ask if they are headed to a party. Male: "No, we are headed back to my place." Me, way over enthusiastic: "Good luck, dude!" Dude laughs, girl laughs. They giggle and continue on.

Here is my point, here is what I meant to type all along, you can skip all you have read before.

So, the point.

I am waiting for the bus. It is 20 minutes before midnight. I don't give a fig that I'll miss midnight's stroke. There are lots of bars in the area (I'm by the Green Mill at this point) and people everywhere.

Smokers outside bars, walkers walking between bars. Cars and cabs all over the streets. No one cares it is new year's? Maybe I am in good company here.

Ten to midnight. No bus. Cold. Very cold. Hands numb. Check the cell phone now and then for texts. None. But Swiss time keeps marching on. Cars and people everywhere. Hands on the clock about to meet.

11:57 p.m. This is three minute before midnight. And wow. It was amazing. Were I in a crappy country/western bar I would have missed this. This is my solar eclipse. This is my Woodstock, my own personal little miracle that came out of a night of depression, that you, dear reader, will never see no matter how many midnights come from here till death's day.

11:57 p.m. the streets empty. Zombie town. All human life is gone. Even the roads are close to completely empty.

Not 100% empty. But where did the cabs and cars disappear to? That was the most baffeling.

Almost not a soul on the streets. People I was for sure dead positive had no clue what time it was, they are gone. The panhandler guy? Gone. 11:57 p.m. and all the streets are empty in Chicago near the Green Mill.

Tick, tick, tick. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty.

I am not fully paying attention: BOOM! Fireworks at Navy Pier. Oh, right, midnight.

Noisemakers in the Grill Mill. Noisemakers in the Angry Pug. A group of toasters toasting at the Ethiopean resturant (seriously, the chess club in high school would have a cooler New Year's Eve than the Ethiopian restaurant was having, and this from a guy who spent it waiting for a bus).

So though I pretty much missed an entire New Year's Eve, and maybe only the 3rd time in my life missing an official network broadcast of a countdown. I got to see this rare, strange event of people who I thought were not paying attention, actually paying synchronatic attention and all rushing in to be near a TV. It is midnight in Chicago.

The end.		  
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last day   
12:53am 27/12/2008
  There on the last day the floods came; the great walls of ice held in the water; the giggling bands stood over the shoes as they dried.

It was the last day ever (tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life) and the outside was warm and cold at the same time. The fogs were in, the waters were on their way (says the news!) to warsh away the floods, and after a bad soaking of the feet, which left the heels in pain, and then later resoaked by nature, and then left to dry. Always left to dry. Dry alone in an empty hallway, taken off before entry. Stay there, you may not tread my carpet. I have groceries to put away. Forgotten.

The oven was on, the meat sizzled and seared; in one room a keyboard clicked. Outside, in the hall, the shoes all alone, their only crime stepping on too many flooded sidewalks, navigating sheets of melting ice, a gaggle of voices approached. They giggled. Friday night, they would be going out to a bar. They laughed at the shoes in the hallway, so carefully lain by the door to keep them from out of underfoot. Consideration for others taken to be fussiness. The gigglers giggled, and inside, the typing stopped for a moment, ears strained to make out the words. The meat in the oven sizzled.

On the last day ever, the shoes got taken in. No need to throw on pants over the boxer shorts, the hallway had been quiet for hours. In the tomorrow, in the morning (reallly: late late night), the gigglers shall return. The shoes shall be gone, and the night ends with things running an ersatz reverse, they shall not notice the shoes gone, they just shall walk down the hallway back to start's beginning, prolly not even realiseing that the last day ever is over, and another day has begun. They shall not realize that the shoes are now in the kitchen, that the meat has been consumed.

Time marches on.		  
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A sociological look at pre-Christmas   
08:11pm 23/12/2008
  There is this game I have been playing the past few months, I think I started it back in August somesabout, long story. But the game is to see how many people I can say "Good morning" to on my way to work.

On a typical day I might say good morning to about 25 people going from my apartment to the train, to the office, and everyday is an interesting mixed bag of what I get in return from people, most people ignore me as though I do not exist, I chuckle to myself and keep going, every so often I get a huge smile back and a warm good morning back. Males are less likely to say good morning, older women (lets say over 60) are most likely to say something back. And I don't keep track of numbers, but I do take note in the back of my mind.

So Christmas week. You are to think (or so I was thinking) that it would be a week with people full of good cheer. But no! Not the case. In fact today and only one other day (I'll get to that in a second) was the only day not a single person said good morning back to me. I got two women to "almost smile," you will have to have been playing this for a while to know what I mean exactly. But beyond those two almost-smiles, not a single person even acknowledged me today. It felt so odd that I deccided to play the game the rest of the day...lunchtime...after work to the train, after work in a grocery store, on the way to the bus, on the bus, walk home from bus.

I did finally get a hello on the way to the grocery. So out of 44 hellos or good mornings, I got exactly ONE hello back, and three half-smiles.

WHere the sociology of this comes in is that the only other time I got such a dismal response was the day before Thanksgiving. This is all age ranges, all ethnicities, I cannot generalize beyond my megre data, but people are most unfriendly on the day or two before a big holiday.

My conclusion of this unscientific (I'd say a sample size of 44 is pretty signiifigant, nonetheless) I'd say we are all a miserable lot before a holiday.		  
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Old Man Late-Fall thunders his wrath   
12:55pm 19/12/2008
  Pardon my over-blown prose here, I am a tad feverish and wish to write.

-- -- --

Old Man Late-Fall grasped this Midwestern city in his grizzled fingers overnight determined to give proof to his might. His last ride at the reigns before handing the seat to his notorious brother come Sunday.

The sidewalks of Lakeview are not empty. The streets have a few cars. Some commerce goes on. Education does not (the list of schools closed mirrors but perfectly the list of schools extant). But there is a grim determination on the face of anyone outside. I see no one with gallons of water, or loaf upon loaf of bread, but there is a feel that only those with need are out in the shrill winds, and drifts, and ice.

When one listens to the radio, one is sure all human life shall end; Yeti shall descend upon us with whetted appetites for human flesh, that the Earth's crust shall sag under the weight, and that the sensibly prudent thing is abandon to wild panic; this is the storm that shall take us all Home.

My wants were simple, a bit of Tynelol for my fever-ridden brain, a bottle or two of Diet Coke to keep myself hydrated for the times water was not enough temptation, and out I went. Category 5 blizzard, the mightiest of the winter weather.

Stangers were a tad more chatty. "Whew!" "Quite a storm!" which for this neighborhood is a lot. The two-block walk was pleasant. Setting my feet carefully each step made things meditative. Seeing businesses shut early reminded of just what commerce is.

And there I went, and back I came. No need to venture out again. The radio on for more hysteria. The killer storm survived. No need for commemorative t-shirt. Surprisingly little tea is needed to restore the warmth stripped by gale-force, katabatic winds.		  
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remember?   
04:33pm 11/12/2008
  Remember that one day during the summer where I was feeling pretty crappy and I said that I was feeling fatally ill and that I was pretty sure that I would not live to see the sun set? Well, it turns out, and you will be kind in your ever-kindness-bordering-on-nagging to here note that it was not but a once but a several times, and as I type this I can hear your voice in my head suggesting that it was not even just a mere several times, but rather pretty much every day for the entire summer...

Let me start over, this sentence has gotten complicated to the point that even I, a mere author, can no longer follow.

You know how every day for the entire summer I said nearly every day that I felt deathly ill, and it was not just possible but likely and even probable that I would not live to see the sun set, or if this were uttered at night that I shall not see to see the sun rise? Or if it were cloudy then to see a time agreed upon by international standards to represent local sun rise data or sun set data of a historical and statistical nature? Remmebr that?

Too complicated again. Let me retype.

You know this summer, when I was deathly ill and unlikely to see the next sun rise? Well, it turns out I was wrong.

Just thought I'd let you know.		  
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